Have you ever sat in a room full of people — a meeting, a dinner, a gathering — and felt like you were performing a version of yourself that took everything you had to hold together?
Not because anything was wrong, exactly. But because somewhere underneath the nodding and the note-taking and the right-thing-to-say-at-the-right-time, your body was humming with a kind of restlessness that no one else seemed to notice.
For a long time, I thought that restlessness was just me. I thought it was anxiety. Or perfectionism. Or not trying hard enough.
As an adult, I discovered that I have ADHD.
I am still learning to absorb this new piece of myself — still holding it close while I figure out what it means for the life I have already built, the work I do, and the way I move through the world.
Anxiety has been part of my journey for much of my life. But underneath those experiences, there was always something else — something I could not quite name. Discovering ADHD has been like finding a puzzle piece I did not know was missing. Things that never quite made sense before are slowly connecting. It adds a layer of understanding that anxiety alone did not account for.
ADHD is often associated with visible hyperactivity, but experiences are varied. In my life, looking organized or reliable did not show the effort I was putting in underneath.
Some people, including women, are identified with ADHD in adulthood. Looking back, I can see ways I tried to compensate for difficulties or meet expectations. Those patterns alone do not identify ADHD; assessment looks at a fuller history.
It can look like over-preparing for every interaction because you are terrified of forgetting something. Saying yes to everything because saying no feels too risky. Spending hours on a task that should take twenty minutes — not because you do not care, but because your brain will not let go. Feeling exhausted by the end of the day, not from the work itself, but from the effort of appearing like it all came easily.
I wrote about the connection between procrastination and perfectionism before I had this language for it. Looking back now, I can see how deeply intertwined those patterns were with an unrecognised ADHD brain.
If any of this resonates, you are not alone. These experiences can have more than one explanation, and you do not need to interpret them on your own.
One of the most surprising discoveries in my own journey came during a therapy session, when I learned I am a verbal processor. I was so struck by how well the description landed — like finally putting a name to something I had been doing my whole life without understanding why.
As a verbal processor, I think out loud. I work through feelings, decisions, and ideas by speaking them — not because I am seeking advice, but because the act of saying something aloud is how I find clarity. The words leave my mouth, land in my body, and something settles into place.
But this has not always been easy to navigate. Let me give you an example.
We were hosting a sound bath at our space — a 90-minute meditation event. I typically find the room cold, so I had bundled up in a full sweatsuit, ready to be still for a long stretch. But it was the end of June, the air conditioning was off, and, to my surprise, the room was actually warm. So I turned to a colleague and said, simply: "It is surprisingly warmer than I expected today."
That was it. An observation. A comment. My way of connecting — sharing what I was noticing in the moment.
But what came back was a response about how people always complain about the weather, wanting it hot when it is cold and cold when it is hot. I was not complaining. I was not wishing for anything different. I was just saying something out loud, the way I always do — and it landed as something else entirely.
These moments used to spiral me. I would second-guess everything — my words, my tone, whether I had done something wrong in the way the feeling-to-thought-to-share process worked. The anxious thought trajectories would pile up:
Do I complain without realising it? Is there something wrong with how I communicate? Am I broken?
What ADHD has given me is a framework for understanding these patterns without blaming myself for them. I am learning that the way my brain processes information is not broken — it is just different. I cannot control how someone else receives what I say. But I can understand why I say it. And that understanding has shifted something important for me.
As a Somatic Experiencing® Practitioner, I pay attention to physical experiences alongside thoughts and emotions. In myself, I notice restlessness, tension, and fatigue. These sensations are not specific to ADHD, and persistent or new symptoms deserve individual assessment.
The effort of planning, compensating, and trying to meet expectations can feel tiring to me. I wrote about rest and responsibility in Balancing Rest and Responsibility. That reflection is part of understanding my own needs, rather than a rule about how ADHD affects everyone.
In somatic therapy, we slow down enough to notice what the body is carrying. We do not try to fix the ADHD. We work with the exhaustion, the tension, and the activation that have built up over years of pushing through. It is not about forcing calm — it is about creating the conditions for the nervous system to begin to settle.
Here is something I hear often from clients with ADHD — and something I have experienced myself: traditional, structured approaches can sometimes feel like another thing to get right. The homework, the worksheets, the expectation to sit still and process verbally in a linear way — it can trigger the very patterns of performance and perfectionism that brought you to therapy in the first place.
This is where art therapy offers a different way in.
In art therapy, there is no right answer or artistic standard to meet. Creative exploration can offer another way to express something when words are hard to find. You can choose how much structure or art-making feels helpful, and we can adapt the process together.
You do not need to be an artist. You do not need to make something beautiful. You just need to be willing to let your hands do what your mind cannot always articulate.
One of the most profound shifts in my own journey has been the move from self-blame to self-understanding. For years, I carried stories about myself — that I was too much, not enough, too sensitive, too scattered. Discovering ADHD did not erase those stories overnight, but it gave me a different lens to see them through.
I am learning in real time. Integrating what I can and letting go of what no longer serves me. Sometimes I get it right, and sometimes I do not — but I am learning. And for me, that is inspiring.
Self-compassion is not always easy to access, especially when you have spent years being told — or telling yourself — that you should be able to do better. I wrote about this more in Self-Compassion During Mental Health Week — the idea that kindness toward yourself is not a luxury, but a foundation.
Having ADHD does not make you broken. The difficulties you experience deserve attention and support that fit your needs. Counselling can be one part of that support, alongside assessment and other treatment options where appropriate.
If you are newly discovering ADHD, or if you have been carrying a diagnosis and are looking for support that honours the whole of you — your body, your creativity, your unique way of processing the world — we can talk about it.
I do not diagnose ADHD, but I do offer a space where you can explore how it shows up in your life, your body, and your relationships — therapy that meets you exactly where you are.
Ultimately, even when others do not understand us, we can begin to understand ourselves. And that can be a meaningful place to begin.
Book a free consultation and let's have a real conversation about what support could look like for you.
Until next time,
- Bethany
This post is for reflection and educational purposes. It is not a substitute for individual counselling, diagnosis, or medical advice.
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